


Drown Your Sorrows

by booksnchocolate



Category: Bandom, Marianas Trench, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Gen, Josh doesn't want to let Matt go and who can blame him, M/M, Post-breakup, Recreational Drug Use, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksnchocolate/pseuds/booksnchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: “Drown Your Sorrows”; this is Josh, post-breakup. Self-destruction comes in many flavours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown Your Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a bonus piece for all you lovely people who read my fic. <3 I'm only posting this here; enjoy, lovelies! <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters herein. Written for fun, not profit.

 

_Drink._

Whiskey burn. Your throat’s on fire but the first sip goes down easy and so does the next and the next… It’s the good stuff, but the money won’t last forever, so you switch to rum after the first round, though you’ve never liked the taste.

It doesn’t matter, though. Anything tastes better than the rejection you’re drinking down.

You raise another glass to your lips and the dim light flashes off the amber liquid – and you see him again, fingers idle on the strings of his guitar, flashing a trademark cheeky grin. He waggles his eyebrows at you like he used to and you grin back –

And drain the glass, though whether you grimace more at the taste or the memory, you couldn’t say. It hardly matters now. You order another drink and pray that this time, you can burn out the echo of his parting words. Maybe you can drink enough to forget his taste.

_Smoke._

Breathy inhale, feel the fumes filling and killing your lungs; the cig burns, not unlike the whiskey, but it feels more like satisfaction. You’ll get there. One more hit and you’ll get better, right? Wrong, but it’s a pretty line.

In the smoke, you hear his voice, always scratchy in the mornings but beautifully mellow when he sang. You inhale too deeply and choke on the fumes. The painful contractions of your chest feel like no more than you deserve.

You get your breath back slowly and light another cigarette with trembling fingers. You bring it to your lips and inhale greedily, craving the sweet hit of nicotine. The smoke forms ghosts in the air when you exhale, and you can’t stop yourself from seeing his silhouette there. You drag in another frustrated breath; you’ll whittle the cig down to the nub, but you can’t summon the energy to care. You’ll burn your fingers hoping maybe his memory will drift away with the smoke. 

_Fuck._

The man across the bar is looking at you like he’s seeing you naked. Alcohol and smoke run through your veins as he makes his way over to you. He’s a complete stranger and his gait is blessedly unfamiliar, so you nod when he introduces himself; and when he puts a hand on your shoulder, you lean into the touch.

The bricks are rough when he shoves you up against the alley wall and kisses you, but your hands are rougher on him when you press his hips down into the bed and fuck him. You don’t bother learning his body; you don’t press yourself to every inch of his skin. You’ve done that before, and look how it turned out. Instead, you fuck him mercilessly, until your muscles are trembling harder than he is. When he kisses you, his tongue licks like fire into your mouth, sweeter than whiskey, more sour than smoke. You want to shake yourself apart in this heat. You grip his hips until they bruise, and you don’t let him kiss you again.

You leave while he’s sleeping, before the sun rises. You don’t look at him as you get out of the bed; you’re terrified of seeing yourself in the map of bruises imprinted on his skin.

You make your way onto the street with shaky legs; the pre-dawn shadow world looks as washed out as you feel, and the painful truth begins to seep into your drug-addled brain. You’ve tried everything you know, but nothing’s worked, and you can’t shake the memory of a blinding smile, a boyish laugh, a sweet kiss – but they’re only memories and in the chill air, they offer little comfort. He’s still gone. You’re still alone and though you’ve tried to drown your sorrows, it’s no use; they can swim.


End file.
